


Colder Water

by casey2y5



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016 World Cup of Hockey, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Team Bonding, The Pittsburgh Penguins are not that co-dependent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casey2y5/pseuds/casey2y5
Summary: Change isn't Sidney's strong suit. Everyone knows that. So he's nervous about the World Cup of Hockey on the sheer principle of it being new.  Apparently, change has some advantages, but he's nothing if not an expert at getting in his own way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Super huge thanks to @elenajames for the beta!

It was the first time Sid could remember that summer didn’t feel quite long enough. A deep June run, one that ended in the Cup wasn’t something he would ever complain about, but hockey camp had worn him out in the way only fifty over-excited kids could. They siphoned energy like tiny, starving vampires. Starting mid-September with a tournament no one had really done before was its own kind of stress. There were teams that had never existed before, that no one would really be able to get a read on until the exhibition games started. It left him with a heavy feeling in his stomach. He hadn’t gotten into a tournament without an idea of who he would be facing in years. It added an edge Sid wasn’t sure he enjoyed this close to thirty.

His fingers itched for his phone, even as he picked his way through the Halifax airport, hat pulled down low. He didn’t know who he would call. Calling anyone who hadn’t been invited to the tournament to complain about the tournament just seemed unforgivably tactless. Anyone else was either on a different team, half a world away, or headed to the exact same place he was. Even if he was going to call someone on Team Canada, well, he didn’t want to whine to guys he would only be captaining for a few weeks.

He didn’t think he was unhealthily attached to his team. If anything, he was unhealthily attached to hockey, but he wished someone from the Penguins was on Team Canada with him. He imagined Burns and Thornton were feeling the pain of the shortened break as well, probably more so. He knew the pain of losing the Cup on home ice all too well. He couldn’t very well ask them to relive it just so he could complain about being hungover for the last half of June. He’d hold that in until he met up with Geno, whenever time was going to allow for that.

The flight was blessedly short. He’d been spoiled with charter flights during the season, he decided. The seats, even in business class, were flat out too narrow for him. If he was any taller, he would be in real trouble (and he had to laugh at himself for that. Being under six foot was never a good thing). He was still stiff and cramped by the time they landed in Toronto. As he was waiting to deplane, he was questioning the wisdom of checking his gear instead of shipping them ahead. If it- or his clothes- were lost, he’d be screwed. He took a breath. It was just another tournament. It was hockey. It would be fine.

*****

It would not be fine. He was tired and grumpy and wanted to get to his room so he could nap before meeting up with the rest of the team. Instead, he was standing there with all of his gear, blinking stupidly at the clerk. There had been some sort of incident on his floor and the room wouldn’t be ready for at least an hour. The girl looked genuinely apologetic and about as tired as he felt. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

He settled into a chair, bags piled high beside him. He was just going to close his eyes for a few minutes then check his email while he waited. It was early enough anyway that he’d have plenty of time for a nap before team dinner even if it took longer than expected to get to his room. Three days of training camp to get in sync with guys he played with once every year or two. He dozed off to the thought of getting back on ice, the smell of the rink settling into his nose, a familiar sense memory.

“Do we wake him up?”

“I say we leave him here. See if he ever gets a room or just moves into the lobby for a month.”

Sid shifted, rolling his shoulders The voices were familiar enough that waking up didn’t feel urgent. He came back to himself slowly enough that it didn’t strike him as odd these were the voices he was waking up to until he was already mostly awake.

“Shit, he’s waking up.”

“Betrayed by my own countrymen,” Sid said, rubbing his eyes. “Good to know where I stand.”

Marchand laughed, and offered a hand to help pull him out of the chair.

“Good to see you too, Croz.”

Sid found himself pulled into a rough hug. He responded, glad it was muscle memory at this point. He was still disoriented from his unplanned nap and was surprised to be handed off to another pair of arms.

“Hey, Bergy.”

Sid pulled back, reclaiming his personal space. He popped his back, wincing at the noise it made. Apparently he was too old to fall asleep in random hotel lobby chairs, but that was probably true of anyone over the age of six.

“Told you not to get in too early,” Marchand said.

“Better than being trapped in a airport for three hours.”

“Drooling in public isn’t much better,” Bergy pointed out. “No one cares if you sleep in an airport.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of videos of me drooling all over myself anyway.”

They both laughed.

“I don’t think it counts when you have a broken jaw,” Bergeron said.

“The clerk was too afraid to wake you up,” Marchand said. “Get checked in so the rest of us behind you in line can nap in real beds.”

Sid grunted at them, before heading to the desk. The could watch his stuff if they were going to be like this.

“I wasn’t scared to wake you. I just, you looked peaceful, like you needed the sleep. Didn’t want to disturb you. Sorry if it was a problem.”

“It really wasn’t. Although if my room is ready?”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Crosby.”

Getting checked in was easy, rote, even through the haze of exhaustion. Key card in hand, he turned back to gather his things. Marchand and Bergeron had their heads together, plotting something Sid figured he wanted no part in.

“Team dinner at 7, at least for everyone who’s here in time,” Sid said.

“Aye, aye Captain.”

Sid rolled his eyes and headed towards the elevator. He really needed more sleep.

*****

The restaurant was the kind of place Sid loved for unofficial team dinners. Busy enough they wouldn’t be noticed, but not so busy they couldn’t handle most of a hockey team, plus enough steak and lean protein options to appease even the strictest of diet plans. They even had okay wine. Plus, Sid liked the house dressing.

Having the team around him, laughing and sharing stories was nice too. They were really only together once a year at most. Sid snagged a mozzarella stick out from under Benn’s nose, laughing when he took away the marinara as punishment. Sid shrugged at him.

“See if I let you get the last breadstick again,” Jamie said.

“You would let your captain starve?”

“Hell yeah.”

Tyler’s laugh echoed down the table. He had come straight from the airport and his bags were tucked under the table. Jamie grinned at him, before turning his attention back to Sid. Sid reached across the table, snagging the marinara and dunking the mozzarella stick in before Jamie could even react.

There was enough of the team there that it was loud. They were rapidly approaching the part of dinner after appetizers were devoured and it would be a while before the main courses appeared. Sid settled back against his chair and glanced down the table. None of the Sharks were there yet, and he was trying not to analyze how he felt about that. He’d have to make sure they were comfortable on his own time tomorrow.

There was a general stirring at the far end of the table, greetings being exchanged with a late arrival. He glanced don, trying to pick out the new guy among the masses. There was a shock of red hair.

“Giroux, you made it!” Marchand yelled.

“Got delayed. Dallas-Ft. Worth is hell.”

“Hey!” Jamie and Tyler protested at the same time.

“It really kind of it is when you’re stuck there,” Tyler said.

“Not the point,” Sid said.

He glanced around and stuffed the rest of the mozzarella stick in his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say anything out loud yet. And it was stuck in his throat. He coughed a few times, and let Price pound on his back a few times until he spit it up into the napkin. He folded it over carefully and stared determinedly at the tiny plate in front of him.

Giroux settled in next to Jamie. He smiled at the waitress as she came over to get his drink and hurry his order in. She was charmed by his crooked smile. Sid was pretty sure Jamie was also charmed by it and he resisted the urge to kick Jamie under the table. He took a steadying breath, reminding himself this was Team Canada. Regular season rivalries had to be set aside, but he couldn’t say he actually personally disliked anyone else.

“God, Crosby, I knew you didn’t like me but I didn’t think you’d try to choke yourself out.”

“Haha. It’s Canadian solidarity time. Regular season rivalries don’t matter.”

The response grated on his own ears. This wasn’t the media; it was his team. He should be able to relax around them. He was nervous now though, a lump in his throat. The tournament hadn’t even started to start yet and he was already ready to go home. Hockey was right on the horizon though, and, if he had to do this, he could have a good time. Half the table was staring at him. He grabbed his wine glass and held it up, figuring he had to say something.

“To Canadian hockey.”

The sentiment was echoed around the table. The food arrived and the chatter resumed, people reaching over each other to try stuff off of their neighbor’s plate. The chaos was pleasant again and Sid let himself get sucked in, not noticing Giroux was eating the exact same thing he was.


End file.
